Reclaiming Middle Earth: The King's Fellowship
by Zana G. Nicholson
Summary: Alt. End to LOTR: Gollum, in posession of the Ring, is captured and taken to Sauron, who defeats Aragorn's army, and takes control. Gandalf forms a new Fellowship, to set the peoples free and destroy the Ring-trouble is, there are only 9 of them, and time
1. The Rise of Numenor

Middle Earth lay under a deep, menacing shadow. Everything beautiful and happy had been destroyed, and despair hung over all the survivors. The Lady Galadriel lay in the dungeons of Barad-Dur, from which no one had ever escaped. Lothlorien lay in ruins-the mallorn trees had been burnt to the ground, the Nimrodel falls were polluted by the orcs who now resided there. Rivendell had been raised to the ground-Elrond had boarded a ship to the Undying Lands, grief-stricken that his daughter would now perish in a world ruled by evil. The Shire was little more than a prison camp.  
  
Sauron had found the One Ring.  
  
The peoples of Middle Earth were enslaved, their homelands overrun by the minions of the Sauron, whom they must now bow before, and call 'Lord.'  
  
All seemed lost.  
  
***********  
  
Frodo Baggins tumbled off the back of Gwaihir, Lord of the Eagles, unconscious. Samwise Gamgee rolled off the back of the next eagle, and sat next to his master, his head bowed.  
  
'Get up, hobbits! I did not bring you from the Cracks of Doom to lie in a heap on the floor, lamenting what cannot be undone!'  
  
Sam looked up, and his jaw dropped. He scrambled hurriedly to his feet, and bowed clumsily. 'Mr Gandalf, sir', he said in amazement, 'how...you...but in Moria?!'  
  
'Come now, Samwise', Gandalf interrupted impatiently, 'my apparent resurrection is the least of your troubles at the moment. Is Frodo alive?'  
  
The old wizard bent over the second hobbit, and rolled him onto his back. Frodo was deathly pale, and frighteningly thing, but still alive. Gandalf sighed heavily, and placing his hands on Frodo's brow, muttered some words under his breath. 'This was too great a task to lay on the shoulders of one so small', he remarked sadly, 'had the Fellowship endured, we might have succeeded...but 'what if's and 'maybe's are of no use to us now. Come, Sam, you must tell me everything that happened.'  
  
So Sam Gamgee recounted the tale of his journey to Mordor with Frodo. Whenever he spoke of Gollum, he clenched his fists, and every time he looked at Frodo, tears sprang to his eyes. 'And then, Mr Gandalf', he concluded, 'when that creature bit off Mr Frodo's finger, he put the Ring on, and I saw his footprints go past me. He took it off when he got out of the Fiery Mountain, and he ran all the way down. The Eye, in the black tower was watchin' him all the time, and I wanted to run after him and stop him, but Mr Frodo was hurt, sir, and I can't run fast enough to match that devious little Gollum. If I'd gone down, the orcs would've taken me too, Mr Gandalf, and a fine old to-do that would've been for poor Mr Frodo, left alone to drown in the fire.' And with that, Sam burst into tears, and it was several minutes before Gandalf could get another sensible word from him.  
  
'Orcs, you say', he prompted gently, when Sam's sobbing had reduced to sniffling, 'they took Gollum, did they?'  
  
'I don't rightly know, sir', Sam sniffed, 'but I'm guessing so. They were everywhere. When the Eye looked at the Mountain, a load of orcs came runnin' back into Mordor-they'd left a while earlier, y'see, to go to the Black Gate, I don't know what their purpose was there. But then after a while, there was a big earthquake, worse than when an oliphaunt walks past, and that's no lie! And everything went very dark. I started to help Mr Frodo down the mountain-he was dying, Mr Gandalf, or so I thought-he couldn't talk, and he was staring straight ahead, like he could see somethin' nobody else could. And then the Eye looked straight at us again, and I couldn't see nothing, because I'd got used to going around in the dark by that time, sir. It hurt a lot, and I thought we were both dead then and there, but next thing I know I'm...on an eagle, and we're landing here!'  
  
Gandalf sighed again. 'And so Gollum, who was spared by so many because of pity, has been the ruin of us all. Perhaps my speech to Frodo long ago at Bag End was made foolishly-perhaps if I had not awoken pity in him for that loathsome creature, he would have killed him-or allowed you to do so.'  
  
Frodo moaned softly, and stirred. Sam sprang over to him, and knelt beside him. 'Mr Frodo!' He whispered anxiously, 'Mr Frodo, wake up!'  
  
'Frodo will not wake up for some time', Gandalf told Sam, 'he has gone beyond death, and has narrowly escaped becoming a wraith, and being tortured by Sauron for eternity. I have healed some of his hurts, but more expertise in the art of healing is needed. He may still die, Samwise, I warn you now. Had the Ring been destroyed, he would still have had little chance of ever being truly happy or peaceful in this world again. But Sauron knows of him, and will search for the one who dared to try and destroy him-much will have to be done to protect Frodo.'  
  
'Mr Gandalf, sir', Sam said timidly, 'where are we, exactly? And begging your pardon, but are Merry and Pippin all right? And what about that Strider, and Boromir, and Legolas and Gimli?'  
  
'To answer your questions in order, Master Gamgee', Gandalf answered solemnly, 'we have travelled over the Sea-no, not to the West, Sam, and let me finish before you start to speak-to the ancient land of the Numenoreans- the ancestors of your Strider. Oh yes, in legends it is told that Numenor sank without a trace, when those men defied the Valar, but Sauron has created a world of darkness and fire-what does he care for the beautiful rivers and oceans of this world? He has created such disturbances in the world that Numenor, in the earthquakes, rose once more above the sea. This I knew would happen if Sauron rose to power, for I have dreamt of it often, and saw it in the Mirror of Galadriel. And so, when the darkness fell, I commanded two eagles to bear me to you, and rescue you, and take you to Numenor. The other eagles, I bade them aid some others in an escape from Middle Earth.'  
  
'Who escaped?' Sam asked curiously, gazing mournfully at his master's pale face.  
  
Gandalf made no reply, but stood up, and walked a short distance away. He banged his staff on the ground, and called out in a language that to Sam's ear sounded distinctly elvish.  
  
Sam let out a cry of joy, as out of the trees which seperated the rest of the island from the shore, came six people-five of whom he recognised. He leapt to his feet, as two of the others broke into a run, and embraced him tightly.  
  
'Sam!' Pippin cried delightedly, 'we were sure you were dead! Old Gandalf Gloomyboots was trying to prepare us for the worst, but we KNEW you were alive!'  
  
'The World as we know it has come to an end, and still Peregrin Took manages to be foolish', Gandalf muttered.  
  
'Master Merry! Master Pippin!' Sam's muffled voice, as he tried to extricate himself from his friends' grips. 'You don't know how glad I am to see you again!'  
  
'Is Frodo...dead?' Merry asked in hushed tones, catching sight of the unconscious hobbit a few feet away.  
  
'No. But he is resting and recovering, and I will thank you not to interfere with him for the time being', Gandalf said swiftly.  
  
Sam now turned to the remainder of the group. He smiled up at the tall, dark man with the grim face, who was watching him closely. 'Strider!' He said happily, 'or I should call you Aragorn, shouldn't I? I'd only begun to get used to that when me and Mr Frodo left you all.'  
  
'It is wonderful to see you again, Sam', Aragorn said, placing a hand on the hobbit's shoulder, 'even if I would have wished for a different manner of meeting.'  
  
'Samwise, the stout-hearted halfling', said the elf who stood next to Aragorn, with a slight smile, 'greetings.'  
  
'Legolas', Sam said shyly-he had forgotten how these people filled him with awe. Now, they looked even stronger, and wiser than ever, 'and Gimli!'  
  
'That was a nice trick you played on us, Sam', the gruff dwarf boomed, leaning on the handle of his axe, 'running off in that boat with your master, leaving us with not so much as a clue as to what had happened to you!'  
  
'I'm sorry Gimli', Sam apologised.  
  
Gimli laughed, and embraced Sam awkwardly. 'You halflings have grown on me now', he said with a sigh.  
  
Sam looked up at the last of the group, and bowed, for he could see this man was a very important person.  
  
'Do not bow to me, Master Hobbit', the man said, in a deep thoughtful voice, 'for you have endured much, and but for misfortune, we would be hailing you as our rescuer. I am Eomer, son of Eomund, from Rohan.'  
  
'Samwise Gamgee', Sam muttered, although he was sure this man already knew his name.  
  
'What happens now, Gandalf?' Legolas asked quietly. 'We are the only free peoples now, having left many behind.'  
  
'The elves will begin to fade, before long', Aragorn said in a strange voice, 'we must save the Lady Galadriel from Barad-Dur, and find the Lady Arwen, for she gave up her kindred, to live among Men, only to discover now that this is not the Age of Men after all, but the Age of Darkness.'  
  
'Why didn't the eagles save her too?' Sam asked nervously, 'and Mr Frodo and I met Boromir's brother, Faramir. I s'pose they're together, wherever they are. Why didn't they escape too?'  
  
'Boromir died saving Merry and I', Pippin said sadly, 'the day you went off to Mordor. And Faramir and the Lady Eowyn must be dead, or Sauron's slaves now, mustn't they, Gandalf?'  
  
'We will make no foolish prophecies here, Peregrin Took', Gandalf said sharply, with a sideways glance at Eomer, 'and I do not need it pointed out to me what we must do. To answer your question, Sam, there were only three eagles and they could only carry so many. We were in the midst of a battle at the Black Gate when the Ring was once more placed upon Sauron's finger, and I knew that now was not the time to attempt to repeat history, and take the Ring from him once more, when he came forth. Aragorn told everyone to retreat, at which point I gathered those whom you see here together and ordered them to let the eagles take them. You are all part of the original Fellowship, so it seemed fitting to have you here with me at the end of the Third Age. Eomer I brrought because he is the King of Rohan now; a worthy man, and a fearless one. Faramir I could not save, nor the Lady Eowyn, for they were recovering in Minas Tirith, and not on the battlefield. And where the Lady Arwen Undomiel was, I knew not. Let us hope that she lives still.  
  
'As for the Elven Ring which I posessed, for I can see this question in Aragorn's eyes, I bade Gwaihir fly over Orodruin, and I cast Narya into its fiery depths-otherwise, I should now be captive, like the Lady Galadriel, who refused to travel to the Undying Lands, but wanted to make a final stand. She made it, and I am certain Sauron will feel the pain of her elven power for some time to come. This, however, does not set her free.  
  
'Thus, we are presented with two choices: We can remain here on Numenor, and live in peace, knowing that we will be safe from Sauron, at least for the moment; Or, the nine of us can return to Middle Earth and attempt to go one step better than Isildur; take the Ring from Sauron's finger and throw it into the fires of Mount Doom.'  
  
Gandalf finished his speech, and gazed around at his comrades: Aragorn was completely still, gazing out over the Sea, a fire in his eyes; Legolas was looking back, towards the Undying Lands, a wistful expression on his face. Gimli leaned heavily on his axe, staring intently at the sand beneath his feet. Eomer's hadn rested on the hilt of his sword and his eyes were closed. Sam, Merry and Pippin all stood beside Frodo, watching the old wizard, and waiting.  
  
'To me', Sam said at last, in a small voice, 'it seems there isn't really any choice to be made, if you get my meaning.'  
  
'I'm not sure I want to try and live happily ever after 'til the end of my days, as Bilbo put it', added Pippin, 'if the Shire and Minas Tirith, and all my friends are suffering.'  
  
'Will we be cowards, like the men of the Haunted Mountain?' Aragorn said loudly, 'will we hide from battle, and allow our people to suffer, while we do nothing? A failed attempt brings more honour than no attempt at all, and to hide here on this cursed land, which Sauron also destroyed once, would bring shame and dishonour on the heir of Isildur, and his comrades, Legolas, the prince of Mirkwood, Gimli, Gloin's son, of the Lonely Mountain, Eomer, King of the Mark, and four halflings who have more than proved their worth.'  
  
'I for one will not sit and wait for the darkness to spread across the sea', Legolas announced, 'let us try and defeat Sauron yet-but if we can not, let us be brave in the attempt.'  
  
'And win honour for our people!' Gimli said determinedly.  
  
'If we can not succeed, no one will', Eomer remarked, 'this alone should give us new resolve.'  
  
'We have discussed this enough', Gandalf said, 'I knew you would choose this path. We must wait for some days, to plan, and allow our Ring Bearer to recover. Aragorn, will you see to him? Rangers are more skilled in healing hurts of all kinds than wizards. Come, Samwise, you need rest', he added hurriedly, as Sam began to sway on the spot and Pippin and Merry had to hold him up, 'I suspect you had rather a larger role in this story than you will admit to.'  
  
And so Gandalf prepared some blankets and cloaks as a bed for Sam, then returned to the others, and lit a fire. There they sat all night long. None of this group, the final Fellowship perhaps of Middle-Earth, would allow sleep to take them. As still as statues they stood or sat, the fire casting their shadows on the ground. And not a word passed between them; they were content in the knowledge that they were safe in each others' company, and somewhere out there, across the Sea, was the One Ring, which they must pluck from the finger of its Lord. 


	2. The Clock is Ticking

Frodo awoke with a gasp, and sat up far too quickly, making his head spin. Bretahing heavily, he looked around, bewildered. He felt as though he had been under water for a long time, and had only just burst through the surface.  
  
But where was he? Certainly not The Shire at any rate-he was lying on a beach! Then this was clearly not Rivendell either.  
  
And then, it all came flooding back to him. The old wound in his shoulder felt as though it had been re-opened, and he cried out in pain. The Ring...Gollum had taken it...he had failed.  
  
'Mr Frodo sir!' Came the cry of a familiar voice. Half a second later, Sam Gamgee flung himself down on the sand, burst into tears and hugged Frodo tightly.  
  
'Sam!' Frodo had never before felt so pleased to see another person. 'Sam, where are we? What's happened? The Ring-'  
  
'Hush now, Mr Frodo', Sam said quietly, 'Gandalf says we're not to go gettin' you excited! D'you remember that place from Mr Bilbo's stories- Numenor? We're there! And Strider, and Gandalf, and Mr Merry and Mr Pippin, and Legolas and Gim-'  
  
Frodo pulled away from Sam and looked at him in dismay. 'I'm afraid our journey with the Ring has driven you quite mad, Sam', he said sadly, 'Numenor is hundreds of miles beneath the sea, and thousands of miles from Middle-Earth. Wherever we are, it's not there. And Gandalf, well, don't you recall? He fell in Moria? Unless...we're dead too, and this is where we all go after life-'  
  
'Mr Frodo, let me finish!' Sam cried impatiently, 'Mr Gandalf didn't die! He just fell! And the Dark Lord has the Ring, but we're safe and sound, on Numenor, because it came up from under the sea! We're not dead, Mr Frodo! We still have one last chance to save everyone!'  
  
Frodo's head was pounding, and he was finding it difficult to cope with Sam's ramblings. Maybe he was already in the dungeons of Barad-Dur, and Sauron had conjured up this beach, and this ray of hope, to torture him. Sam's apparent insanity was probably due to torture as well. Or else this was all a dream, and he was still lying in the tower of Cirith Ungol, waiting to be destroyed by the orcs. Or maybe-  
  
Frodo's was prevented from continuing along this depressing line of thought, by loud shouts, and what seemed like an explosion in the sand nearby. He had barely managed to get his thoughts together, when the bomb leapt onto its hairy little feet and zoomed straight at him, knocking him flat onto his back once more.  
  
'Frodo!' Pippin roared in delight, 'Frodo's awake! Frodo's alive! Merry, come ON, Frodo's awake, and alive and-what the matter, Frodo?'  
  
'This isn't real', Frodo muttered, backing away from Pippin, not wanting to look at him, in case he would see his cousin's cheerful face twist suddenly into the evil grin of an orc, or see his two eyes become one, huge red one, watching him wherever he went...  
  
'Of course it's real!' Pippin cried, 'Merry and I were trying to see if the trees here can talk as well, and I looked down and saw you talking to Sam, so I jumped out of the tree! Merry took the long way down, but it saved him a bruised backside I'm sure!'  
  
'Mr Frodo', Sam looked genuinely worried, 'I'm going to go fetch Mr Gandalf, wait here with Mr Merry and Pippin.'  
  
Frodo watched Sam stumble off along the beach out of sight, passing someone who looked like Merry Brandybuck on the way. His heart sank-whether Sam was insane or not, it had been comforting to have him around. But now, left with an extremely excited Pippin (who was making his headache even worse), whom he had not seen for so long, he felt terrified.  
  
Pippin's smile faded, and he stood up and whispered something to Merry, who nodded solemnly and hunkered down next to Frodo.  
  
'Frodo', he said gently, 'it's us. Ask us anything you want, we'll prove we're the real Merry and Pip. This may seem a bit far fetched, but it's all real-honest!.'  
  
'I'm Peregrin Took', Pippin interrupted, anxious to prove his true identity, 'I'm your second cousin, twice removed that is, and we used to pick Farmer Maggot's mushrooms together, in our tweens. My favourite place to drink is the Green Dragon. Your father was Drogo-'  
  
'It is you, Pippin!' Frodo cried, breaking into a smile, 'only the real Pippin would go on and on like that!'  
  
'And only the real Pippin would jump on top of Frodo, after all the times I implored him to keep away until I had spoken with the Ring Bearer first.'  
  
Frodo scrambled awkwardly to his feet (with some help from the over-zealous Pippin) and stared in utter disbelief at the party who had come up behind him. Was Sam right, then? Was he really standing on Numenor, the land of the ancient kings?  
  
'Gandalf', he said at last, with some difficulty, 'The Ring-'  
  
After that, everything that happened for a while was a blur to Frodo; he was introduced to a tall, stern-looking man named Eomer, and was virtually dragged to the fire, and given a drink of clear, pure water-the first he had tasted in many days. Later, he dimly recalled Pippin and Merry giving a lively account of a talking tree, and the wizard Saruman. They looked taller than they had when he left Rauros, Frodo noted. Then Gimli told a story about a battle, and something to do with the Dead...  
  
*****  
  
'Bless him, he's nodded off', Sam whispered to the small assembly, glancing over at Frodo, 'what are we going to do now he's getting better, Mr Gandalf sir?'  
  
'We are going to do what must always be done before a quest begins', Gandalf replied softly, 'we will hold a council. Though perhaps not as grand, or comfortable as the Council of Elrond, we must make important decisions.'  
  
'Speak no more of it tonight', Aragorn said suddenly, 'let us sleep one more night in peace, before beginning a council of war, Gandalf.'  
  
'Yes', Gandalf said distantly, 'with the rising of the sun we will begin our council. We have been here for seven days. We cannot wait any longer.'  
  
******************  
  
'Hurry up, snaga!'  
  
An orc whip cut into Faramir's back, and he stumbled forwards, biting his lip so hard that he made it bleed. He did not know how much longer he could survive in these conditions; He had been dragged from his bed in the House of Healing, while sleeping. He had barely begun to recover from the events of the previous days, and it was only after he had been force-fed some orc liquor that he was even able to support himself. This is was the fifth occasion that he had been singled out for a whipping by the orc slave- master. How he longed to grasp the hilt of a sword again! Then this filthy creature would cower in fear before him.  
  
Faramir was chained to a long line of slaves, who had been set the task of salvaging any arrows or weapons that were strewn around the fields of Pelennor. The Steward of Gondor bent down, and plucked an arrow out of the ground. It was an orc arrow-it's untidy, raggy black feathers and poisonous black tip filled him with disgust. He stowed it in the filthy quiver with which they had each been equipped, and walked on, keeping pace with the man next to him.  
  
He looked at the man out of the corner of his eye, and recognised him as one of the healers who had tended him in Minas Tirith.  
  
'Tell me', he murmured, moving closer to his neighbour in the pretence of picking up another arrow, 'did they raid the entire city? Is everything destroyed? Is there no hope?'  
  
The man shot Faramir a frightened glance. 'Nothing was left whole in the city. It is nothing but a shell. We are doomed to die as slaves to-'  
  
Faramir jumped and stared in horror as the man slumped forwards, a black- feathered arrow protruding from his back. He cried out in pain, as once more the whip licked his back and side.  
  
'No one may speak, most of all if they intend to speak my master's name', roared the slave-master, from behind Faramir, 'move on!'  
  
Faramir staggered onwards. His breathing was harsh and shallow, and his vision was slightly blurred. He bent to pick up a spear-head, and suddenly felt very dizzy. Forcing himself not to give in, he shook his head hard, blinked, and looked up. The sight that greeted him made him feel sick.  
  
He was not very far from the gates of Minas Tirith-or what was left of them. He was close enough to see that all the houses close to the gates had been burnt down, and that the Citadel had been looted; many precious weapons and gifts from the treasuries lay in heaps by the gate, while orcs cheered and sang raucously. But what really turned his stomach was the sight of a fair-haired maiden, dressed all in white, being dragged out of the city by two hideous orcs. They were tearing at her clothes, trying to kiss her, and pulling at her hair. Others joined the dreadful duo, and shouted insults at the woman. Her pretty face was set, and she aimed punches and kicks at her assailants. One of them put his arm around her, and she bit down on it hard, then spat the blood out onto the ground.  
  
'Found her hiding in one of the crypts!' One of the orcs yelled, 'she's a pretty one, ain't she?'  
  
'Let her go, you scum!' Faramir could not control himself. Whoever this girl was, he was not going to stand by and allow her to be harmed. He pulled his arm back as far as the tight chains would allow him, and fired the spear at the orcs, killing one on the spot. There were roars of anger from the group of orcs, and four of them advanced on him menacingly. Faramir stood his ground, although his heart was pounding. The largest of the orcs shouted something to the slave-master, who sprang forwards, and unlocked the shackles around Faramir's wrists and ankles. The orc leader grabbed him, and held his long, black knife to his throat. 'That was foolish, snaga!' The orc snarled, 'what is your name?'  
  
'Faramir', the steward gasped.  
  
'Well slaves', he said, raising his voice, 'you must all remember Faramir's foolishness. It will bring only death.'  
  
'Wait!' Called one of the orcs from the gate, 'here, look at this-there's a picture of that one on this heap of gold, look!'  
  
Faramir followed the orc's finger, and there indeed was a portrait of himself, dressed in full armour, smiling. It was charred around the edges, but framed in gold-no wonder it had been taken! The orc leader growled, then looked back at Faramir.  
  
'Who are you? Must be important, havin' your picture hanging in the the Throne Room.'  
  
'I am the Steward of Gondor', Faramir replied, glaring at the orc, and drawing himself up to his full height, with some difficulty.  
  
The orc grinned evilly, showing rotten, brown, jagged teeth. He lowered his knife. 'I think this one deserves a place in the Black Tower, eh boys? You may have been the steward of Gondor, my lad, but now you're no more than a slave-and a slave who murdered one of my army! The Dark Lord would be very pleased to make an example of the great steward of Gondor, and what happens to those who have opposed him! Take 'im! And take the girl too. She's one of the Horse people, and the Dark Lord wanted them brought to him-seems there's still one of the old king's relatives at large.'  
  
The orc shoved Faramir away from him, into the waiting arms of another filthy orc, who bound his hands and feet with a thick rope, while another did the same to the girl whom Faramir had saved.  
  
'It's a ten day march to Barad-Dur', the orc sneered, 'and I won't tolerate no slacking!'  
  
And so Faramir found himself staggering away from Minas Tirith, towards the great Darkness of Mordor.  
  
*******************  
  
On the flat crown of an ancient hill, Arwen Undomiel, the Evenstar of her people, took shelter in the ancient ruined watch tower of Amon Sul. Rivendell had fallen some days previously, and she had fled, alone, through the wilderness. Two nights before, when her horse had abandoned her, she found herself at the foot of Weathertop, and climbed it with ease. There she had sat all through those two long nights and days, grief-stricken and lonely. Glorfindel, Gildor, Círdan, Erestor, Elrond...all of them had passed into the West before the Darkness came. Her brothers, she sensed, had fallen in battle. Galadriel, her kinswoman, along with Celeborn, were languishing in the dungeons of Barad-Dur. Beyond this, Arwen knew nothing.  
  
It would not be long before she was found. Already, many parties of orcs had passed the mountain, on their way to the land of the periannath. Tears rolled down the elven maiden's cheeks as she allowed her thoughts to return to the Fellowship of the Ring. What had become of Frodo? Since Sauron had obtained the Ring, Arwen assumed that he was either dead, or being tormented by the Dark Lord, as a punishment for his attempt to destroy the One Ring. And what of Samwise, the steadfast hobbit? And Meriadoc, and of course Peregrin, the youngest of the four? And Legolas, her kinsman from Mirkwood-had his lightness of step and quickness of bow not saved him? And the dwarf, Gimli son of Gloin, had he too perished?  
  
The real puzzles were Gandalf and Aragorn. Gandalf, she was certain, had not died. He could not depart from Arda until his task had been completed. But if that was so, why was he not coming to the aid of Middle-Earth? And Arwen knew Aragorn was not dead, oh no. She would know when he died. But he was beyond her sight, and she had power to offer him protection, nor could he help her.  
  
The daughter of Elrond begin to sing the Lay of Beren and Luthien, until she finally passed into the world of waking-dreams, where elves find the strength and rest that they need.  
  
And high upon the tower of Barad-Dur, the Eye watched her.  
  
********  
  
Phew! Fairly heavy, but i needed to re-introduce them all, and show what has happened to them. The story will focus mainly on Aragorn and his comrades (The King's Fellowship), but there'll be Arwen bits (not too many, because she's not high on my list of favourite characters) and quite a different beginning to the relationship between Faramir and Eowyn!  
  
R&R! 


	3. Samwise the Brave

The gentle wind woke Sam Gamgee, when it blew half a fistful of sand into his open mouth. Coughing and spluttering, he rolled onto his front, and scrambled onto his feet.  
  
'Morning Sam!' Pippin cried cheerily. He was holding a sausage over the fire, and humming merrily to himself. Merry was drawing pictures in the sand, and Aragorn, Gandalf and Eomer were deep in discussion at the other side of the fire. There was no sign of Legolas and Gimli, or Frodo.  
  
'Where's Mr Frodo?' Sam asked, panicking for a brief second.  
  
'Relax, Sam!' Pippin cried, 'he's exploring the area, with Legolas and Gimli.'  
  
'And here they are now!' Merry added, nodding over Sam's shoulder. Sam turned around and saw Frodo walking along the beach between Gimli and Legolas, looking happier than he had been since the Fellowship left Lothlorien, all those months ago.  
  
'Come along, all of you', Gandalf said, noticing the arrival of the the elf, hobbit and dwarf, 'sit down, make yourselves comfortable. We have much to discuss, and not an awful lot of time in which to discuss it.'  
  
The nine comrades seated themselves around the fire. Gandalf sat between Aragorn and Frodo. Eomer, Legolas and Gimli were seated next to Aragorn, and Sam, Pippin and Merry next to Frodo. All faces turned expectantly towards Gandalf the White, who closed his eyes briefly, before speaking to them;  
  
'The Ring is once more upon its Master's finger', he began, 'and Sauron has used it to cover Middle-Earth in a second darkness. As far as The Eye can see, there is nobody left to resist his will. Those who survived his onslaught are slaves, or lie deep within Barad-Dur, in his torture chambers. The peoples of Middle-Earth are left with no hope. They have given in to the darkness.  
  
'Sauron will thrive on their despair, and he will create many more thousands of orcs, and build himself strongholds in every realm of the earth. We must, therefore, present our people with hope, and do so quickly.'  
  
Here, he stopped, and looked around at the small group gathered by the fire. 'Here, we have some of the strongest members of each race: Legolas of Mirkwood, a prince among elves and a skilled archer; Gimli, son of Gloin, a dwarf of the mountains, with a stout heart and a heavy hand. Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck, who showed great valour and managed to conceal the fact that they did not, in fact, have the Ring, and thus bought Frodo some time. And it is this time, and the time that Aragorn bought us at the gates of Mordor, that has left us with a little hope. If the dark forces had not been delayed and distracted, we would most certainly have been overrun; Samwise Gamgee, a Ringbearer, and protector of Frodo, son of Drogo, who took the Ring to the fires of Mount Doom, and was only prevented from destroying it by a cruel twist of fate. We also have Eomer, son of Eomund, King of the Riddermark, a great leader of Men. And lastly, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the heir of Isildur, and the crownless King of Gondor. We may only be nine, but we are indeed a force to be reckoned with.'  
  
'But Gandalf', Merry intervened, 'it took tens of thousands of Elves and Men to defeat Sauron the last time!'  
  
'But it only took one man to cut the ring from his finger', Gandalf interrupted, 'to reduce what would seem an incredible feat to a mere technicality, we only NEED one person. But do not fear, Meriadoc, I do not intend for us to rush into the tower of Barad-Dur, waving our swords and announcing ourselves. You forget that we have the eagles. You also forget that there are thousands upon thousands of people just waiting to be freed. As I said, Sauron knows nothing of our survival. He will not expect anyone to start a rebellion-after all, who would be foolish enough?'  
  
'We are left with an enormous task though, Gandalf', Legolas said softly, 'we must remove the Ring from Sauron's hand, then take it to Orodruin, and cast it into the fires where it was made. Who will you appoint for this task?'  
  
'I will appoint no one, Legolas Greenleaf', Gandalf replied gravely, 'it is not my place to choose the fate of anyone, let alone those of you who sit with me today. Whoever takes up the challenge must do so willingly and must do so swiftly.'  
  
Silence followed Gandalf's words, until Frodo, who still felt the burden of guilt weighing heavily upon his heart, said what he had been thinking all along.  
  
'I should take the Ring', he said quietly, 'it was my task, and I failed the first time, but Elrond and Galadriel said only I can complete this feat, and so it must be me. I've already felt the Ring's power-I can still feel it. I can resist until the task is completed. There is no reason to appoint another, and make them suffer-' Here, Frodo broke off, unable to continue, as he could feel both physical and mental pain growing as he thought of the Ring.  
  
'I won't let you, Mr Frodo', Sam said fiercely, 'I'd rather fight Sauron myself than see the look in your eyes when you hold that thing. It was killing you, Mr Frodo.'  
  
'Maybe', Frodo argued desperately, 'and in that case, why bring about the death of any others? The Ring has left me with pain and fear, let it finish me off. I am willing to be the sacrifice, to save The Shire, and Gondor, and Rohan, and Fangorn, and the Lonely Mountain, and all of Arda.'  
  
'I, however, am not willing to allow you to die', Gandalf intervened, 'if another took the Ring, it would be some time before its will began to have power over him-long enough, perhaps, for the deed to be done.'  
  
'Please!' Frodo begged, 'I won't be free until I've cast it into the fires of Mount Doom!'  
  
'I would take the Ring myself, and right the wrong Isildur did so long ago', Aragorn said suddenly, 'I would see the honour of Numenor restored.'  
  
'Aragorn would be a fitting Ringbearer', Gandalf agreed, 'but I do not believe that shall be your fate. You are a King of Men, and you were not born to destroy Sauron. You were born to bring hope to the peoples of Middle-Earth, and lead them for many years. If you carry the Ring, I fear you shall never be able to fulfill your destiny. No, your path leads to Minas Tirith. Similarly, Eomer, yours leads once more to Meduseld.'  
  
'I would take the Ring', Merry said bravely, 'since Eomer can not. I would take it for Eowyn, and for all the people of Rohan and the Shire.'  
  
'I've shown I can fight', Pippin interrupted eagerly, 'I've shown I'm not just a stupid little hobbit with no brains. Let me take the Ring to Mordor- for Faramir and for Gondor!'  
  
'You speak as though this task were an honour', Legolas said softly, 'but look at Frodo-this Ring would seek to destroy your peace of mind, your joy, your very soul. I will NOT take the Ring, unless all others fail in their attempts. I do not wish to be tempted, lest my valour should fail, and I would become a minion of the Dark Lord, doomed to walk in his shadow forever.'  
  
Legolas' words weighed heavily upon them all. 'You speak wisely, Master Elf', Gimli responded gruffly, 'so what do we do?'  
  
Gandalf opened his mouth to speak, but a small voice got there first.  
  
'I don't want to take it. I've seen what it's done to Mr Frodo, and how much trouble it's caused. It's because of that Ring that I'm not sitting at home with my Old Gaffer, talking about the growth of mushrooms in the Shire. It's because of that Ring that Gollum didn't die a long time ago, and leave us all in peace. It's because of that Ring that the Black Riders exist. That Ring's caused me a lot of trouble, and I want to get my revenge, if you follow me. And if it kills me, well then...it kills me. And I wouldn't much like to become one o' them Ringwraiths, but I don't suppose anyone would. There's nothin' else for it. You've all played some big part in the story so far, while all I've done is watch Mr Frodo get worser and worser, and let that Stinker run off with the Ring. Please, Mr Gandalf, sir. I want to carry the Ring to the Mountain of Fire.'  
  
Everyone stared at Samwise Gamge in utter amazement. His speech had touched them all and they looked at the little hobbit with a new, greater respect.  
  
'So be it', Gandalf announced heavily, 'Samwise, you shall carry the Ring to Mount Doom. My head tells me that I send you to your death, and the destruction of us all, but hobbits have, for many years, confounded my head and befuddled my wits. You shall cut the Ring from his hand, and you shall bear the Ring. But four companions shall go with you. These I shall choose when the time comes. Now, to lay our plans....  
  


* * *

  
It was sunrise on the seventh day after Numenor came out of the sea, and Sam was busy sharpening his sword. It was not actually a sword, but Aragorn's curved knife, which the ranger had given to him the previous night. Ever since the council, Gandalf, Aragorn and Eomer had been busy perfecting the plan of attack, with regular reports being given to the rest of the party. Frodo had spent the entire three days resting, but Sam had little time to worry about his master now; everyone was quiet whenever he was around, and treated him as though he were made of glass. Even the boisterous Pippin had heeded Merry's warnings and left Sam alone.  
  
This, however, was the last thing the poor hobbit wanted. He wanted these last few days to be happy and normal-he didn't want to be treated like a martyr, or a hero. But nobody seemed to understand this, so he had spent a lot of time wandering around alone, or daydreaming.  
  
Now, he was re-packing his backpack for the hundredth time, and checking to make sure he was fully equipped for the journey ahead. Suddenly, he saw a shadow fall over his cooking utensils, and he looked up.  
  
'Mr Frodo sir!' He cried joyfully, 'you're up and about!'  
  
'Yes.' Frodo sank down onto the sand next to his friend. 'I feel a good deal better now, Sam. But I need to talk to you.'  
  
Sam put down his frying pan, and stared expectantly at Frodo. 'What is it, Mr Frodo? What's troubling you?'  
  
Frodo sighed, and looked up. 'Sam', he began quietly, 'if you fail...don't blame yourself. The Ring is more powerful than either of us can understand. But I held it long enough to feel Sauron's presence-and he is full of hate, and malice. And the Ring is part of him, so carrying it won't be easy for someone like you.'  
  
'What d'you mean, someone like me?' Sam asked, feeling offended.  
  
'Someone who is innocent and kind, and does not understand evil at all.' Frodo replied.  
  
'I do too understand evil!' Sam cried defensively.  
  
'Sam', Frodo laughed weakly, 'your idea of evil is Ted Sandyman trampling through your potato patch!'  
  
'Maybe it used to be', Sam replied quietly, 'but Gollum...and them Black Riders...and orcs...and Shelob...now they're real evil.'  
  
'Add them all together and multiply them by eleventy-one', Frodo answered sombrely, 'and you will just about begin to understand the evil of the Ring.'  
  
Both hobbits were silent, and Sam continued to pack his bag. When he had finished, he looked at Frodo. His friend's face was drawn and pale, and there was a sort of deadness in his eyes that troubled Sam.  
  
'Mr Frodo', he said, trying hard to smile, 'I'm going to make you better!'  
  
'I do hope so, Sam', Frodo whispered, 'I do hope so.'  
  


* * *

  
'Mr Strider, sir-or Aragorn, I should say.'  
  
'Ah, Sam! How do you like my knife?' Aragorn, who had been sitting by the shore, lost in thought, half-turned to look up at Sam.  
  
'I like it just fine, Mr Aragorn, it's wonderful.' Sam had the air of somebody with a lot on his mind. 'Mr Aragorn-'  
  
'Sam', Aragorn interrupted patiently, 'you may call me Aragorn. You are no servant of mine-of anyone's, in fact. I know for a fact that Frodo wishes you would just call him Frodo. We have come to the end of the world together-there shall be no airs and graces here, or anywhere else, at any time-between you and I.'  
  
'But M-I mean, Aragorn, sir!' Sam was mortified. 'You're a King, and Frodo, well, he's always been my Master, and he was my Old Gaffer's master too. It's force of habit, if you folllow me.'  
  
'Well, call Frodo what you may, you will not treat me as a superior', Aragorn replied kindly, 'now, what was it you wanted to say?'  
  
The normally cheery hobbit sank down onto the ground and stared intently at the sand. 'I wanted to say this to Frodo, or Merry or Pippin', he began, 'but I don't want to go upsetting them all. And I think you'll understand why I need to say this to someone, and maybe you can help me.'  
  
'I'll do my best', Aragorn answered quietly, patting Sam on the back, 'what is it, Sam?'  
  
Samwise Gamgee sighed heavily, and met Aragorn's eye. 'I wanted to spend my whole life in the Shire', he told the King, 'trimming the hedgerows, cutting the grass, planting flowers and trees, and having a drink in The Green Dragon whenever I had the time. I was happy, tending to Mr Bilbo's garden, and listening to his stories, and talking with Mr Frodo, when he wasn't too busy, or off with his cousins. The only thing I wanted to do any different was meet some elves. Well, I met them even before I'd left the Shire, so my heart was settled, and I would've been happy to come home again. But Mr Frodo needed me, and Merry and Pip, so I went with him, to keep him safe. And, well, I thought we'd only be gone a few months at most. But here I am, sitting on an island that came out of a storybook in Bag End, with two kings, an elf, a dwarf, a wizard and my three best friends. I don't want to be here, and I don't feel like good old cheerful Samwise Gamgee anymore. I've been more scared than anyone should ever have to be. Then I went and let the Ring get back to the Dark Lord, after everything I'd been through.  
  
'What I'm trying to say is...well, there's some things I'd like you to tell everyone, if I succeed, but don't survive. Will you remember them, Mr Aragorn, sir? Will you tell them right?'  
  
'I swear that no matter what happens, I will deliver your messages, Sam', Aragorn replied gravely.  
  
'Thank you, Strider. Now, let me see;  
  
I want my Old Gaffer to know that I saw an oliphaunt, and that I travelled to the Golden Wood and Rivendell, where the elves live. I want you to tell him I'm sorry I didn't get to come home, like I said I would, but I had something important that I had to do, and he'll understand some day. Don't tell him about the Ring, it'll befuddle him, and he won't know what to think.  
  
I want Mr Frodo to know that I'm glad I caught him before he could row away, the day the Fellowship broke. I want you to tell him that it didn't matter to me whether I lived or not, once he was better, and happy again. And that's the truth.  
  
Tell Merry and Pip...tell Merry and Pip I'll miss them, even if they did always used to get me in trouble when I was a little lad. Tell them I hope they never run out of Old Toby.  
  
And I'd like you to say thank you to Faramir from me-that's if he's still alive. He let us go on with the Ring. Tell him he was right about Gollum all along.  
  
And I've one last message. For Rosie Cotton. Tell her that I would've liked her to be my wife, if I hadn't gone off with Mr Frodo. Tell her I hope she's very happy, and lives to be older than Mr Bilbo!  
  
'Do you think those messages will do, Mr Aragorn, sir?'  
  
Aragorn's eyes were glistening, and he felt a lump in his throat, when he thought about the sacrifice the little hobbit was preparing to make.  
  
'They will do wonderfully Sam', he whispered, 'they will do wonderfully.' 


End file.
